


Keeping Faith

by Writerofthelord



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s01e12 Faith, F/M, Gen, Mentions of Cancer, Promises, happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 21:07:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writerofthelord/pseuds/Writerofthelord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place back in season 1 during the episode Faith. Dean is recovered, but he and Sam stick around for the job. Layla Rourke can't help but be concerned for them, despite her own approaching death. She has Dean promise her something before he leaves town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeping Faith

**Author's Note:**

> I've never quite gotten over the character of Layla Rourke. I feel like she was a character that the show needed, even if it were just for that one episode. She offered a completely different perspective. She's also interesting because she's that one character who (most likely) died from natural causes, and we didn't even see it happen. I'd be incredibly happy if she was able to return somehow, just one time. Anyways, I wrote a story about her and Dean. Enjoy.

Months later, the cancer would come for her in her sleep.

It had been one of those nights when she prayed, when all she had to depend on was her own faith. There was no priest with his miraculous healing powers. No rainy day and a tent filled with sick, dying people. There was just a small, silent bedroom.

The room was dark. Layla preferred it that way. She felt that, when she couldn’t see anything besides her own folded hands, she could be talking to just about anyone. The whole world could be listening to her in that very instant. Whether or not the whole world really mattered, she didn’t know. She just wanted to know God cared.

“He’ll always be there for you, dear,” her mother would tell her, resting her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “He doesn’t want you to die. You’re a good girl, Layla, and you are a devout Christian. There is a place for you in God’s embrace.”

When she was younger, Layla could find it in her to believe her mother’s words. She did, after all, go to church every Sunday. She did her homework and respected her parents and never fought and there didn’t seem to be much else she could do. 

After meeting Dean Winchester, though, Layla started to have doubts. Dean was far from devout. From what she’d seen, the guy had no faith whatsoever. His brother, Sam, was the one who’d dragged him to Roy’s tent, filled with hope and optimism and everything Layla had been carrying around for years. 

Layla saw fear in Sam’s eyes. She saw relief in Dean’s.

Surely someone like him wouldn’t be chosen for Roy’s miracles. And yet, he had. He’d refused to go up, of course. Even with everyone in the tent begging him, he still wouldn’t go. It wasn’t until Sam shot him a look – one of those looks that only brothers can share – that Dean finally agreed to get himself healed.

Layla was happy the rest of that week. She wasn’t sure why. Something about Dean Winchester, alive and well, pleased her. Every time he came back to that tent, bickering with his brother and offering Layla a sympathetic smile, Layla couldn’t help but smile back.

“Why are you still here?” she asked one day. She wasn’t sure which brother she was asking. They were both there. Sam was the one who had encouraged Dean to go, though. But then, Dean didn’t seem to protest any more. He seemed to enjoy the company of those who looked for miracles.

“We like seeing people get better,” Sam had replied, shrugging. As if it were no big deal. Layla had never felt so important, though. She stared after him as he disappeared inside the tent. She watched a man step up and pat his back, a welcoming smile on his face. The Winchesters had only been visiting for a week and they were already like family.

“You’re not getting better, are you, Layla?” Dean had asked, tearing Layla’s attention away from his brother. 

Layla smiled sheepishly. “No, I guess not.”

Dean shook his head. “Damn it. You know, of all people, you’re the one who should be getting healed. You should’ve been fixed ages ago. And instead, you’re still sitting around in a crowded tent, watching other people light up like the fucking Fourth of July. Why the hell do you put yourself through this?”

“Maybe I like seeing people get better, too, Dean.”

“That’s not fair and you know it. When’s it gonna be your turn, huh? What, are you just going to wait around and let yourself suffer? Stand up or something, I don’t know. But you shouldn’t . . . you shouldn’t -”

“Dean.” 

“Yeah?”

She looked him over, the way he was constantly moving, fidgeting. His hands slid in and out of his pockets. His leather jacket – the one he always wore – hung loosely over his shoulders. Behind him was the Impala, the type of car her father would’ve liked to have before he died.

He was always on the road, she realized. Him and his brother. They barely looked out for themselves, not unless someone else needed them. They were living for other people.

Biting her lip, Layla raised her eyes to Dean’s face again. “This isn’t your fault, alright? I know you feel bad, trust me, I know. Everyone does. But you can’t change it. You can’t change what’s inevitable.”

“You can always change, Layla.” His eyes were staring into hers, all wide and sorrowful. When he was sick, dying, he didn’t look like that. He never did. He laughed, joked around. It was like his death was a celebration or something.

Layla reached out to him, resting her hand on his arm. “Not everything. Not for me.” She ran her fingers along the sleeve of his jacket, feeling the years of life hidden in the worn leather. “I’ll be fine, though.”

Dean gripped her hand in his, hand over hand over jacket. His hand was cold and shaking, yet his hold was firm. “You think you’re gonna be fine.” He laughed. “How the hell can you even think that?”

“Because I have faith, Dean. I have faith that things will work out for me.” Layla paused, taking in the man’s disheveled appearance. “Why don’t you have faith?”

“Because I can’t.”

“You haven’t been happy in a long time, have you?”

His eyes widened. They stared at each other for a few moments, silent and alone in the rain. Everyone else had filed into the tent. Dean could hear voices from inside; someone was getting healed. A strange look came across his face when the cheering began.

He stepped away from Layla, letting her hand drop from his arm. “No, I guess I haven’t.”

Layla frowned. “Hear that cheering, Dean? Hear those people? They’re happy. For each other. They want each other to be happy.”

“I want that, too.”

“Then do me a favor. When you leave, be happy. For me. Because like I said, I’ll be fine. But I need you to be fine, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We’ll be fine together, I guess.”

Dean smiled, then. A real smile. It lit up his face. Even with the rain pouring down on him, he was able to look like a sunbeam. Layla couldn’t help but smile back. “You know that Sammy’s been saying the same thing to me for years now? Says I don’t know how to take care of myself, that I spend too much time worrying about other people. Never really listened to the kid, to be honest. But . . . you know, it’ll be damn hard, Layla. But I really like Sammy, and I really like you, so I’ll give this happy thing a try.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, might as well.”

“Good.” Layla nodded, wrapping her arm around Dean’s shoulder and leading him into the tent. “That’s good.”

Two days later, the Winchesters left town. Dean promised Layla that he would pray for her. He didn’t know it, but she silently vowed to pray for him, too.

Months later, the night the cancer came for her, she wasn’t praying for herself. She figured she did that enough in her lifetime. The night she died, she prayed for Dean Winchester.


End file.
